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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24369058">cry me a river</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppyBismilk/pseuds/PeppyBismilk'>PeppyBismilk</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Crying During Sex, Emotional Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Feelings Realization, First Time, Grand Theft Condom, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 11:08:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,907</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24369058</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppyBismilk/pseuds/PeppyBismilk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>All the other skaters have something Seung-gil lacks (or maybe it’s the other way around). It probably doesn’t give them an edge, but after a crappy night, what does Seung-gil have to lose by, well, losing it?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Phichit Chulanont/Lee Seung Gil</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>87</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>cry me a river</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyofthefl0wers/gifts">Ladyofthefl0wers</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Eighth place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not good enough, but he’s at the banquet after the Four Continents Championships anyway, social conventions being what they are. He and Min-so aren’t speaking, though, so at least tonight has that going for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not like he hasn’t been trying. He’s been pushing himself even harder since missing out on the Grand Prix Final, but he feels stagnant. Like he’s hit a plateau.</span>
</p><p>A wolf whistle pulls him out of his funk and he glances behind him. Katsuki Yuuri and Viktor Nikiforov are dancing, if he can even call it that. Grinding might be a better word, like something out of a music video. He shouldn’t watch but like every other fool in the room, he can’t look away.</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When you win gold, I guess you can do what you want,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Seung-gil thinks. Not that he has any idea. He hasn’t taken a gold medal since Juniors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Life was simpler then. He shot to the top of the pack and he had fun doing it. Sure, he’s better at quads now, and he can drink, but sitting in eighth place is the opposite of fun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting alone isn’t fun, either. When he was younger, being close to the same age was reason enough to be friends, and he never sat alone at a banquet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A server stops at the table to refill his champagne. The crinkled foil around the neck of the bottle catches the light, and suddenly, Seung-gil remembers a bottle spinning on the carpet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Junior Worlds Banquet. 2010. Playing spin the bottle while their coaches get drunk. The neck of the bottle pointing at him. Phichit Chulanont crawling across the floor and kissing him on the mouth. Seung-gil’s first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hasn’t forgotten it: the soft press of his lips, the herbal aroma of his lip balm, the brush of his hand as he tucked Seung-gil’s hair behind his ear. </span>
</p><p>Seung-gil landed his first quad toe loop that summer. A coincidence, to be sure, but he steals another glance at Yuuri and Viktor making out on their makeshift dance floor and wonders.</p><p>
  <span>Working with Viktor led Yuuri to the best skating of his life, and Seung-gil may be a virgin, but he’s not naive; they’re fucking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Seung-gil’s pretending he knows where to put his hands when he feels himself up for his mambo even though he's never felt sexy once in his entire life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t be the only Senior skater who’s still a virgin—they’re all married to the sport—but he hears people talk in locker rooms. Even Michele Crispino has had sex. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seung-gil isn't deluded. Losing his virginity won’t unlock the secrets of better skating, but it might make him feel better tonight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if by some miracle it does help his skating, then so be it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s only one person he’ll even consider asking, and that person came in fourth place. Seung-gil finds Phichit Chulanont on the dance floor, snapping pictures of the It couple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seung-gil taps him on the shoulder. When Phichit whirls around, the full force of his smile almost knocks Seung-gil off his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Seung-gil!” Phichit takes a picture of him and wiggles his eyebrows. “Wanna dance?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” says Seung-gil. “Will you take my virginity?”</span>
</p><p>Phichit’s eyes go wide. He doesn’t say anything, just pulls his head back and tilts it, and Seung-gil realizes he might have gone too far. </p><p>
  <span>“First of all, what?!” Phichit’s eyes dart around the room, maybe to see if anyone overheard. “Second, yes. And third, I repeat, what?”</span>
</p><p>His answer comes so fast, Seung-gil almost misses it. “You will?” </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” says Phichit. “I’ve got a lot of energy right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When don’t you? </span>
  </em>
  <span>But Seung-gil keeps the thought to himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your room or mine?” Phichit asks the question so casually, like he does this all the time. Thinking about that makes Seung-gil’s stomach hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yours,” he says. “I don’t have any protection.”</span>
</p><p>“Neither do I,” says Phichit brightly, which makes Seung-gil feel better and worse at once. “I’m gonna steal it from Yuuri.”</p><p>
  <span>Phichit doesn’t say why he has Yuuri’s key, but Seung-gil follows him upstairs and watches him take some condoms and an unopened tube of lubricant out of Viktor Nikiforov’s monogrammed suitcase. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He won’t miss it,” said Phichit. “They’ve got, like, hundreds more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seung-gil’s eyes go wide. If that’s the secret, he’ll have to work his way up to it. But he has to start somewhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So.” Phichit’s voice wavers in the elevator, the first indication of something other than confidence (unless he’s just worked up from the robbery). “What brought this on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never had sex.” It’s as simple as that. Well... “And we kissed once.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit nods. “I remember. But we haven’t talked in forever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to do it,” Seung-gil tells him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I want to! Like I said, I’ve got energy to burn, and besides…” Phichit comes closer, bracing his arms to the wall on either side of Seung-gil, caging him there. A different smile simmers on his face, darker, sexier (because everyone else can be sexy), and he says, “You look really cute tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seung-gil’s heart pounds so hard he can feel it in his throat, and he wants Phichit to kiss him again, but the elevator stops and the doors open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go,” says Phichit before he draws away, down the hall. Seung-gil scrambles to follow him.</span>
</p><p>The first thing Phichit does is shove him in the bathroom. “Clean up for me.”</p><p>
  <span>“I’m clean,” Seung-gil protests. “I showered before the banquet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a significant look, Phichit presses a bar of soap into his hand. “Trust me, you’re not clean enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pats Seung-gil’s ass on his way out and it clicks—Phichit wants to fuck him. Confidence hits like a shot and Seung-gil drops his pants and lathers up his hand. He washes his cock first because it’s easy, then takes a deep breath and presses a soapy finger to his rim. It’s a tight fit just getting in there, and he wouldn’t call the stretch pleasant (which doesn’t bode well for the rest of the night), but if sex didn’t feel good, people wouldn’t do it, right? After a few passes, his asshole’s cleaner than it’s ever been, and probably up to Phichit’s standards. He just can’t decide what to do with his pants: put them back on or go out in a towel? Go naked?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opts for his pants but leaves his underwear on the bathroom floor, and when he emerges, he finds Phichit standing by the window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every time Phichit smiles at him, his heart hammers out a new rhythm. It has to be nerves. Like before a competition, but warmer, deeper in his gut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ready for me?” Phichit asks, and an honest-to-goodness shiver travels up Seung-gil’s spine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me freshen up, too.” Phichit’s wink sends another pulse of heat through Seung-gil’s body, and so does his voice when he calls out from the bathroom, “Whoa, Seung-gil! Are you going commando?”</span>
</p><p>Seung-gil doesn’t see the big deal—they’re just going to get naked anyway—but he shouts back, “Yeah.”</p><p>
  <span>“That’s hot,” says Phichit. “I don’t know how I can top that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he does, when he comes out in his tight little shorts and nothing else, toned arms, legs, and abs that normally hide beneath costumes and practice gear on full display. Seung-gil can’t believe his luck, that Phichit actually agreed, that he wants this, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re still sure about this, right?” Phichit asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seung-gil’s eyes travel down Phichit’s stomach to the obvious signs of interest in his underwear, and he swallows. “I’m sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool!” Phichit’s whole face brightens, and he drops his ass down on the bed, then pats the mattress next to him. “C’mere! You’ve got too many clothes on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Seung-gil takes off his jacket and sits, facing Phichit, arms at his sides and palms braced on the bed to support himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You always look good in a suit,” says Phichit, teaching forward to start removing his shirt, unhooking one button at a time. His touch tickles where fabric brushes skin, but Seung-gil just watches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But,” Phichit adds when he uncovers Seung-gil’s navel, “those low-cut costumes drive me wild. I always want to see more.” And when he reaches the last button, he pulls at either side, fingers skimming Seung-gil’s arms as the shirt falls to his wrists. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lifting his hands, he lets the shirt slip to the carpet. Pieces of him lie strewn about the room: first his underwear on the bathroom tile, and now his shirt on the floor, wrinkled and scandalized because he’s always hung and folded everything…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But his virgin clothes flutter out of his mind when Phichit smooths a hand down the center of his chest. “You really are perfect, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s when his words register; Phichit is complimenting him: his skating costumes, his body, the way he looks in a suit. Seung-gil looks up at Phichit’s face, and he must look worried because Phichit scrunches up his nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I talking too much? Just tell me to stop and I will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And even though Seung-gil can only imagine what else that mouth can do, he shakes his head. “Keep talking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit breaks into a grin, pressing both hands to Seung-gil’s skin now, and says, “Do you wax? You’re so smooth.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though he can’t see what it has to do with sex, Seung-gil nods, and Phichit closes his eyes and moans through his nose. His hands never stop moving, kneading Seung-gil’s chest and shoulders in slow circles. It feels good, but leaves him tingling and no more relaxed than before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can touch me, too,” Phichit says, encouraging. He’s unfailingly kind and friendly, always waving at Seung-gil and commenting on his Instagram and ogling his chest, apparently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit’s chest is nice, too, well-defined and mostly hairless, save a narrow trail leading from his navel to below his underwear. But Phichit’s nipples, erect even though it isn’t cold in the room, draw his attention back up. Seung-gil reaches out to brush the back of his hand over one and Phichit’s eyes fly open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Seung-gil croaks out, snapping his hand back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t apologize! I liked it,” says Phichit. “Keep going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a nod, Seung-gil does it again, then again, because Phichit gasps every time, until the back of his hand doesn’t cut it anymore and he switches to his fingertips, both hands working Phichit’s nipples in deliberate circles until Phichit is shaking before him and his own pants are getting uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop, stop,” Phichit grunts out, and Seung-gil does, afraid once more that he’s gone too far. But when Phichit meets his eyes, they’re low and hazy, and Phichit says, “If I don’t kiss you right now, I’m gonna explode.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When their lips touch, Seung-gil melts. Only then does he realize how badly he wanted this, and he leans into the kiss, pressing his chest against Phichit’s. Again, Phichit seems eager to guide him through the ins and outs, setting a slow rhythm just like their first kiss, only now he uses his tongue and coaxes Seung-gil’s mouth open, too. It’s soft and the perfect amount of wet, gentle but urgent. Heat pools deep in Seung-gil’s gut—his pants feel even tighter—but when Phichit pulls him down on the bed, on top of him, the kiss sends tingles all the way down to his toes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit’s hands find his hips and push them into place; it must be right because their cocks brush, hot through their clothes, and Seung-gil’s never felt anything like this. A shudder rips through him and somehow, he knows to arch his back, to press himself flush against Phichit and roll his body—oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>what he’s supposed to do on the ice—and Phichit moans his approval, meeting his little thrusts and tugging at his pants, “Off, off, off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clear direction helps, even if his body knows some of what to do, and Seung-gil wedges his hands between them to unhook his pants, shivers wracking his body every time his knuckles brush Phichit’s cock. “You, too,” he says, snapping the elastic of Phichit’s shorts once his own pants are gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit nods rapidly against his cheek, and murmurs, “Take them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Salivating, Seung-gil pulls them down, and just a taste of skin on skin breaks his silent streak. The sound—part grunt, part gasp—brings Phichit to life, and shit, he’s fast, rubbing their dicks together like he’s trying to start a fire. It’s so hot they may actually burn up, and Seung-gil starts to sweat. Phichit curls his hands around their cocks, pressing them together like they’re one. Seung-gil floats on the friction until a familiar urgency brings him down—he could get off like this, but he didn’t shove soapy fingers up his ass for nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want,” he tries, “can you—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything,” says Phichit, squeezing them tighter. “Say it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please fuck me.” Barely above a whisper, he begs, and Phichit’s ridiculous moan drowns him out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck, yes, anything,” Phichit pants, like he’s the one about to get fucked. “Just tell me how you want it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he’s faking it, Seung-gil appreciates the enthusiasm. He doesn’t know enough to know how he wants it, so he goes with his gut and pushes Phichit off of him, then rolls onto his stomach. His cock feels too small without Phichit’s on it, but his ass is empty, waiting, needing to be filled. Reading his mind, Phichit helps him onto his knees, rubbing the curve of his ass at the same time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit’s touch grounds and relaxes him, and so does his voice, even though he’s talking nonsense: “You’re so fucking cute, I can’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He never finishes the sentence, but then he’s gone, rifling through his jacket pocket for the pilfered condom and lube. Seung-gil watches him but when Phichit comes back and meets his gaze, Seung-gil buries his face in the pillow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s all sound now—cardboard ripping, a cap popping open, and then a filthy squirt that somehow turns Seung-gil on even more. He squirms and Phichit sighs in rapture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I?” Phichit asks, and Seung-gil lifts his face from the pillow for a moment to agree. A cold, wet finger settles on his rim, but it’s already better because it’s Phichit’s. Close to Seung-gil’s ear, he says, “Tell me if anything hurts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seung-gil nods. Tries to relax. And then it happens; Phichit pushes in. Seung-gil exhales. The stretch burns, but not in a bad way. Lubricant is better than soap. Phichit pushes in a little more and Seung-gil takes a deep breath. It’s good to be full, even if it’s not ecstasy yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You all right?” Phichit asks, knuckle-deep. “Talk to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seung-gil lifts up again. “Keep going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit does, and Seung-gil does the impossible—he stops thinking and just feels, focuses on Phichit’s finger moving in and out, slow and careful. Every ridge of his finger, his knuckle, drags against Seung-gil’s inner walls until Seung-gil can’t help but rock back on him. It’s good, it’s definitely good, and better when Phichit adds another, better still when he spreads them, stretching his ass wider, like he’s finding new skin, new places promising new pleasures. More noises come out of him, weird ones, muffled by the pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit’s lips touch his ear. “Good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s all Seung-gil can do to nod. He’s ready for more, for all of it, and he tells Phichit—or at least he thinks he does, because Phichit curls his fingers and grazes a spot that wipes Seung-gil’s mind and makes his body go limp and he’s not sure what he’s saying anymore. All he knows is he wants to be full, full of Phichit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit must understand, because he says, “Okay, okay,” and then he’s sliding his fingers out and wiping them on the bed and crinkling the condom wrapper, taking deep breaths the whole time. That nasty squelch happens again—more lubrication—and Seung-gil reacts with his whole body. Phichit gasps and grabs Seung-gil’s hip to steady him, or maybe to steady himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a strange feeling, letting Phichit do the math, but he’s more likely to find the best angle so Seung-gil bends to his whims. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready?” Phichit’s voice is further away now, and something about that makes Seung-gil shiver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do it,” he says, clear and away from the pillow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit’s there in an instant. His hand quivers on Seung-gil’s hip, but he makes a determined little grunt and does it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s different. Really different. That’s all Seung-gil can think for a moment. He’s stuffed and stretched too wide, almost in pain even though this isn’t even Phichit’s whole cock. Phichit breathes out in one long puff, and it ruffles the hair on the back of Seung-gil’s neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” Seung-gil asks, because this isn’t just about him. Realizing that makes him feel better, or maybe he’s just adjusting to having this much of Phichit inside him. Now that his rim isn’t on fire anymore, he needs more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Phichit takes another deep breath. “It’s just a lot. You’re really…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tight,” Seung-gil finishes. It’s a statement, not a question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stay like that a little longer, until Seung-gil starts to get impatient. That’s a good sign. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Move.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both speak at once, and when Phichit laughs, Seung-gil </span>
  <em>
    <span>feels</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. His stomach flips, the tension snaps, and Phichit moves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Different is good, really good, better than touching himself. He can’t tell where the pleasure’s coming from, if it’s the rubbing in his ass or the sparks in his untouched cock. Together they build a rhythm—slow to start, but picking up speed, until the heat and pressure makes Seung-gil’s voice do that thing again, and he lets the pillow drown all the wild sounds he makes. Phichit interprets them perfectly: </span>
  <em>
    <span>faster, deeper, more, again, </span>
  </em>
  <span>like their brains are in sync. Connected. That feeling hits him deeper than the raw stroke of Phichit’s dick, and when Seung-gil squeezes his eyes shut, the pillow gets wet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s crying. Why the hell is he crying when it feels good? The tears don’t stop, not even when he opens his eyes; they just flow faster as Phichit fucks him harder, and before he can stop it, he chokes on a sob. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit stops so fast Seung-gil can almost hear the ice spray. “Seung-gil?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine, keep going,” Seung-gil says, but god, it’s so obvious he’s crying and when Phichit pulls out, he just wants to cry harder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Phichit’s voice is gentle, like he’s not still primed to explode. He brushes Seung-gil’s hair out of his face (he can’t breathe into the pillow while he’s crying) and says, “Talk to me.” </span>
</p><p>“I’m fine,” Seung-gil insists. “It feels good, I just—”</p><p>
  <span>Phichit wipes his eyes with his thumb and Seung-gil loses the capacity to form words. It’s so tender—no one’s ever treated him with such kindness, and Seung-gil rolls onto his side to kiss Phichit. His tears taste salty but Phichit’s lips are sweet, and Seung-gil pushes the kiss deeper until his dick demands attention and he seeks friction against Phichit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure you want to keep going?” Phichit pulls back to ask. “We can stop.”</span>
</p><p>“I don’t want to stop.” </p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Phichit says it slowly, hesitant. “Well, do you want to just touch each other? It might be less intense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want intense.” Seung-gil doesn’t even blink. The tears are drying now, but he wants Phichit inside of him, even if it means crying again. They both have to want it, though, so he adds, “If you‘re okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m…” Phichit takes a deep breath. “I’m okay. But if you want me to stop, you have to promise you’ll tell me. Say something. I don’t know—Salchow—and I’ll stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Salchow. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Seung-gil can remember that. He nods. </span>
</p><p>“And like, I know you wanted it from the back, but…” Phichit drops his voice. “Can I see you?” </p><p>
  <span>“You want to see me cry?” Seung-gil asks, a little shocked.</span>
</p><p>Phichit shakes his head. “I want to see if you’re enjoying it. Happy tears are a thing, you know.”</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Happy tears? </span>
  </em>
  <span>The idea is new to Seung-gil, but so is looking at Phichit and kissing him, and that’s pretty good. It’ll probably feel even better while they’re having sex, and maybe he won’t even cry this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he says. But he looks down and Phichit’s dick is soft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit smiles, sheepish. “Maybe we should kiss a little more first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s easy, and it’s not long before they’re both hard again, and Phichit’s putting on a new condom because he had the foresight to steal more than one. This time, Seung-gil’s on his back and Phichit’s between his knees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question and answer are asked and echoed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit pushes in, no resistance this time, and it’s different again—a new angle, not as deep, but more intimate, more intense because they can see each other now. Pleasure comes faster, too, and Seung-gil can’t look anywhere but Phichit’s face: the crinkle in his brow, the way his lips part as he sets a new pace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eye contact is trickier, because when their eyes do meet, something tugs at Seung-gil’s chest, and the tears well up, threatening to fall. He looks at the ceiling, Phichit’s shoulders, the wall, his own dick between them—anything to avoid it, but he keeps coming back to those kind gray eyes, half-closed in pleasure and wholly focused on Seung-gil.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks or says, and the corners of his eyes sting—he’s crying again, fat, heavy tears that stick to his eyelashes and leave tracks down his cheeks. Phichit kisses his eyes and it’s a damn flood, but it feels good, almost as good as Phichit thrusting into him. <em>Happy tears</em>. The words float into his mind, stark and coherent compared to his other thoughts, and he lets the tears flow, free as the heavy slide of Phichit’s cock in his ass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just like the sounds he’s making, he has no clue what his face is doing, but he feels happy and Phichit looks happy, and that’s all Seung-gil needs. Urgency forced out the last of his inhibition and Phichit reads him again, reaching between them to give Seung-gil the push he craves. From there, it’s a beautiful mess—tears and sweat and come—and when he looks up, Phichit’s crying, too, pretty, happy tears that make his eyes shine. Seung-gil may not be his first, but he’s willing to bet Phichit’s never cried through an orgasm before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Little sobs shake Seung-gil’s body as he comes down off the high. It’s strange, to feel so good, so loose, but then again, there’s something cathartic about both a good cry and a good fuck (not that Seung-gil’s an expert on the latter). Still, next time—if they get a next time—he doesn’t want to cry. Not like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I tell you something?” Phichit asks, just a slight catch in his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like you. Have for a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seung-gil’s heart rate picks back up, he looks at Phichit, and it hits him. “Me too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phichit’s eyes are still shining, but he’s smiling, too. Happy tears. “I was hoping that was why you asked.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This, the confession, doesn’t make Seung-gil cry, but he’s too happy to worry about it, and he smiles back at Phichit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And when Seung-gil comes in fourth place at Worlds, it’s probably a coincidence. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There, now there’s more Seungchuchu PWP on this website!</p><p>Thanks to Chel for all the amazing ideas and making this fic happen 💕 and thanks to Sara for the beta read, and now I’m gonna go hide because aaaaaaaaaaa E rating???</p></blockquote></div></div>
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